


Cui Bono

by ptera



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley's Fall (Good Omens), Earth, Fallen Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Fallen Angels, Gen, Heaven, Hell, Pre-Canon, Pre-Fall (Good Omens), Rebellion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-30 23:37:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19413826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ptera/pseuds/ptera
Summary: Crowley's Fall: the wrong people, the wrong questions, the wrong time.





	Cui Bono

The problem with Heaven, remembered Crowley, was that he could never quite figure out what the Rules were. Sure, there were obvious ethereal requirements like “be nice” and “do as you’re told”, but he was certain that somewhere beyond the petty angelic bureaucracy there were “Capital R” Rules. Trouble was that God was far from forthcoming, and any applicable True Rules were lost among the morass thought up by mid-level angels who had found purpose in bossing others around in the name of the Divine (looking at you here, Metatron). 

So, when Crowley said he didn’t mean to Fall – that he was just asking questions – he truly meant it. His original Purpose was to work among the bursts of cosmic ether and make sure all that new material gathered together properly and as Designed. He helped affix the firmament and had a wide field of view for all of God’s creation. Back then his form spanned light years and the force of his will gave shape to a multitude of galactic objects: the stars spinning together from dust and the planets balanced in careful orbits for future life. Angel of the wilder heavens, looking after the fruition of God’s vision of this universe (a kind of Senior Architect with a leash of creative liberty, but he wasn’t the firm’s CEO). 

Then God spun together a little yellow sun encircled by a varied array of planets and called her Angels to come witness her latest Work. Crowley answered the Call, leaving his nebula on what a modern person would call a simmer, and shifted his form to fit the scale of Her new rocky sphere. She had created life before, as she had created the universe and her angels, but it was always nice to see how the newest iteration would turn out. He noted on the way the elegance of this little solar system: the large gaseous planet attracting errant objects and the little cluster of rocky orbs hanging tight to their sun. By the time he arrived Earth-side she’d already taken care of the light and dark, the waters and air, and began putting the planet’s materials through the essential life building cycles. The mushroom forests of this little Earth were fascinating for their time, and the lumbering scaly beasts appeared once again (a long running joke that never failed to show up, but one that Crowley still didn’t get). 

Crowley hung around the edges of the new creation under way. Very nice, truly, and yet he just couldn’t see the point of watching Making in progress when it was the final Products that mattered. No one he talked to could figure it out either. He had to wonder at what She was getting at here. Every lifeform so far lived and died with some reproduction in the middle, and without a single heavenward gaze among them. Like many of her Creations, this life didn’t have that spark of self-awareness that Her angels held privileged. In fact, none of Her creations, save Her angels, could recognize their own reflections in a pond let alone have the capacity to ponder their purpose in Her universe. This ability to know themselves set the angels apart from Her other creations, but few understood the dark side of such Pride (Crowley certainly didn’t and would have Fallen even if he had). 

When he finally decided to walk the world itself, he began to appreciate the fine mechanics rendered (God’s compared to a fine watchmaker for a reason). The scope and scale were nothing like the rest of the universe – the tight focus on developing this one little planet and the creatures that inhabited it were profound in their detail. A star spins for eons, while life must recreate itself constantly, but not perfectly; this Life is ever changing – evolving. Never content simply repeat themselves – creatures swapped the seas for land and land for air (followed by fickle buggers re-adapting themselves back to where they started). These creatures embodied their natures in a way he’d never seen before.

Then he felt Her Presence with him.

“This is some of your finest work, my Lord,” he said, quieted by his sense of awe. 

“MY FINEST WORK IS YET TO COME,” said God.

“Humans?” asked Crowley. He’d heard grumblings when those hairy quadrupeds became less hairy bipeds. 

“HUMANITY,” replied God.

“I’m not sure I follow,” said Crowley, confused by this unknown concept. He waited, but received no further explanation. Her Presence was still warm, always with him, but silent again. “Typical,” he muttered, “Of course I’ll have to figure it out for myself.” She was always _testing_ , leaving you to ponder and hope somehow you came to the correct conclusion. Meanwhile, he’s held to the standard that ignorance of the rules was no excuse. He’d obey just fine if he knew why he should.

“Salutations, [Crowley],” said Lucifer - intruding, oblivious, and using a name now lost.

Crowley turned towards the eternal dawn that was Lucifer, Morning Star – the Favorite. Ah, maybe he could confirm something about the humans, or what might warrant God’s interest in their inherent nature.

“Hey guys,” Crowley greeted, seeing Lucifer was traveling with his loyal entourage. The angel that would become Beelzebub stood at his right hand, the angel that would remain so, Michael, stood at his left. A full choir of angels trailed behind them, ranks of powers and orders intermingling in Lucifer’s wake.

“What do you think of this world God hath made?” asked Lucifer, spreading his hands as wide as his joyful smile. 

Crowley preened. Lucifer was always a ready ear for his thoughts. “Intricate. Truly a masterwork in the making,” said Crowley, echoing his earlier awe filled statements.

Lucifer gazed out upon creation for a long moment, Beelzebub and Michael copying his posture but watching Lucifer just as much as they watched the life below them all. At long last he turned his gaze back to Crowley, the weight of his presence leaning into Crowley like neutron star. “Our God is Great,” he intoned.

“God is Great,” echoed [Beelzebub] and Michael. “Let us rejoice and be glad.”

“Halleluiah,” sang the choirs of Heaven in celestial harmony. Their voices ringing out clear and loud across the lands. The creatures below turned towards them, eyes raised as if in reverence to the Herald’s call.

“And She’s not even done yet,” Crowley laid it on because they clearly missed the conversational cue.

Lucifer smiled, open mouthed and shining, “Indeed,” his voice resounding like a war-horn. He gestured broadly to those gathered, “Come, let us sit and talk a while.” The angels flocked to them now, setting in and around Crowley and Lucifer like birds in a rookery.

Crowley really felt pleased now – Lucifer was giving him center stage and a full audience. There were more angels than he could count - he couldn’t even see all the faces of those surrounding him – but he felt the warmth of their presence like a newborn star.

Lucifer, now seated on a generous rock outcropping with his wings held high like a prince enthroned, gave Crowley a terribly indulgent look, “My Brother, please enlighten us on God’s new Creation. I am curious about the humans.”

“As am I, Morning Star,” replied Crowley, strolling around the edges of his informal arena and trying to look more serious than gleeful. “God favors them.”

“She does,” nods Lucifer, no longer smiling.

Before Crowley could continue, Michael lightly touched Lucifer’s arm, “I am Summoned.” Crowley saw [Beelzebub] had that _Summoned_ look too, but for some reason chose not to move from their spot.

Lucifer inclined he head towards Michael, then Michael lighted away. Lucifer turned back to Crowley, expectant.

“Who does this benefit?” spit-balled Crowley, trying to work through the problem.

“What do you mean?” asked Lucifer, now clearly frowning.

“Well...” Crowley stalled, reaching for words that would sound as profound out loud as they did in his head, “What’s it all for, you know? God’s testing - always testing - but for what? Is She testing humanity for us? Or is she testing us for humanity?”

The other angels looked puzzled. Not thoughtful, just confused. Darting glances at each other, but no one holding anyone else’s gaze long enough to hazard an answer.

Crowley went on thinking aloud, gesturing between the choir and the Earth at his feet, “What does this mean for us?” Crowley looked around, trying to catch an eye and get some response to his monologue. “What does the creation of humanity mean for us? What does ‘humanity’ even mean?”

Silence. Not because no one dared voice an answer, but because no one else had an answer to voice. It was like the other angels’ minds were as blank as the voids between galaxies.

“She means to replace us,” said Lucifer, his voice cutting through the gathering like a scythe. “They are the next iteration.”

A murmur rippled through the gathering, distressful tones. Finally, some reaction, but not what he wanted.

“What-” Crowley started, unable to think of a sufficiently angelic way to phrase, _What bloody well gave you that idea?_

“They are self-aware,” intoned Lucifer.

“No, not really,” mused Crowley, not seeing why Lucifer was making such a big deal. “Not yet anyway.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t,” Crowley shrugged, “But have you seen what she _hasn’t_ shown them?”

Lucifer shook his golden head, his hands clenching and unclenching.

“They know only of a small patch of this little rock for their short little lives,” dismissed Crowley, not reading the room. “They know nothing of the mechanics of their own biology let alone their own planet.”

Lucifer stood abruptly and brought forth his flaming weapon, it’s fire Holy and Terrible. “We will not give them such opportunity. We will not be supplanted. We will not be replaced.”

“Hey!” Crowley started, front-row-seat to Lucifer’s escalating fervor, “they can’t do nearly half what we can do. How can they replace us?” 

Lucifer was no longer listening. He fanned his wings wide and raised his weapon high, “I will take the celestial throne!” Lucifer swung around, facing the encircled angels, “Too long have we been held bound to Heaven! Bound to the whims of a capricious Creator! It is time to rule for ourselves! Join me and we shall have Heaven for OUR great Glory!” 

Lucifer called out, his battle cry resounding through the hearts of every angel gathered here. He took to the sky, weapon bared and shield in hand. The other angels released their weapons and followed, their cries to challenge Heaven and take what was theirs by right.

Crowley stayed where he was, tracking the light tail of Lucifer’s form. Could the Morning Star usurp God Herself? What would the universe be like with Lucifer in charge? Talk about missing the point. Well, God sure had her hands full now with this tantrum. But hey, some transparency in leadership decisions would be a nice change.

Thunder rolled overhead and the sky faded from blue to gray to black. The trumpets of Heaven sounded – then sharp retorts and deep groanings reverberated through air into the earth. 

Crowley didn’t think any of it sounded good, but he had no idea how to interpret the battle’s progression – either could be winning. Both could be losing. None of it was good.

A light like a supernova burst across the skies, whiting out all sky and earth and angelic forms. The light consumed all shadow and pierced him to the core of his very being. His eyes burned and his vision shifted to white, then black-and-white. He saw it then – the dark streak across the blazing white sky. A black star streaking down from above, diving straight into the earth. He saw the impact but heard nothing. Then more black points, smaller but far more numerous, appeared above, and fell towards where the first landed. The black edged out the white as more and more fell. The thudding impacts and screams began to reach him, but he couldn’t understand what he was witnessing.

The angels… Those black specks where angels. Lucifer lost, possibly destroyed. Madness. Utter madness. The heavens were falling, and the earth wrenched asunder.

Crowley glanced around at the remnants of Lucifer’s cohort, the ones who remained and watched like him. Something seemed wrong with them, their wings ashen and their shapes askew. One of them stared back, unblinking - its eyes completely black and mirroring his own uncomprehending horror. With that Crowley decided it was well past time to get out of dodge and faff off back to his nebula. 

“Bunch of mad buggers, the whole lot,” muttered Crowley. He just had to get to the edge of the world and make a break for it; look busy for an eon or two until God calmed down.

It wasn’t meant to be. Lousy ineffability. Lousy Avenging Angels.

Crowley never met most of them, not his department, but it was impossible not to know the Archangels. He saw them, weapons out, but despite his attempts to dodge, they seamlessly boxed him in.

“Hi, guys,” piffled Crowley, a holy spear much closer to his face than he would like.

“Ours is not to question why,” intoned the Gabriel, tilting the spear ever so slightly closer to Crowley nose.

“Ours is not to need reply,” echoed Uriel, weapon grazing Crowley’s side.

“Ours is but to do,” continued Michael.

“Ours is to comply,” sneered Sandalphon.

“The new party line, is it?” dismissed Crowley, unable to summon even a molecule reverence to his voice.

“You are corrupted,” said Michael. “You are disloyal.”

“You have fraternized with the Enemy,” said Uriel.

“You have turned from Her Presence,” said Gabriel, “to align with the Fallen.”

Crowley balked harder at that remark than the sycophantic rhyming. “Since when do any of you lot get a say in who I can and cannot talk to?”

“You bear the mark of the Enemy,” said Michael, pointing to Crowley’s changed eyes.

Crowley stared back at Michael and felt a cold realization deep to his soul: he’d broken a Rule. He’d broken something so fundamental that he was to be shunned, and he could feel it – he could feel the absence of it: angelic Love. What remained was unpleasant and irritating, and he would eventually learn to name it Wrath. It made him want to scream, but he felt frozen to the spot. “I… I what?”

“You bear the mark of a beast,” stated Michael, matter-of-fact. “The eyes of a snake.”

“The eyes of a traitor,” said Uriel. “Lowly groundling, you cannot remain with the Holy on High.”

“On whose authority?” demanded Crowley, disbelieving all the way to the end.

“By Her Word,” said Gabriel, straight backed and steady-eyed. “All the Damned are to be Cast Down to Satan’s fiery pit.”

Crowley met Gabriel’s gaze and saw the unwavering righteousness therein and how little chance he had of getting out of this one. “I think I’ll just walk, thanks,” demurred Crowley, turning and looking for an exit. Then the ground was gone - he could grab nothing, he could hold nothing. He dropped with no end in sight; no Earth, no sky, until only a sudden and all-consuming pain. 

He fell upwards through the searing acid, breaking through to the fire on the surface. Everything burned, everything screamed. He screamed and languished and lashed out left and right only to find nothing to hold and no one to help. The pain cut to the quick and the core of him as everything that was ever angelic transmogrified into demonic.

Transformation complete, he found purchase and hauled himself out of the acid ocean. Blind and burning and weeping – someone struck him about the shoulders.

“Look! Look at you crawl!” cackled the voice, cruel and gleeful. 

Something struck his head and he dropped to the coarse and scorching surface. He wasn’t allowed to remain prone and was instead hauled up by rough hands and sharp claws. “Look!” it called again, “Look at our latest to emerge from the pit!”

No oblivion would take him, no peace would find him. Instead, his sight returned, and he looked upon his horrific companions. They smirked when he recoiled, and he felt their satisfied malice through the same mechanisms he used to sense peace. 

“A new initiate for Hell!” they cried as Satan’s hate and avarice filled his body where God’s love once resided. He writhed with it, seized and tortured.

His eyes rolled up – what he assumed was heaven-ward – and he mouthed, “Why?”

No answer. No insight. Just burning and pain.

Of course, he thought. Of course.

**Author's Note:**

> Cui Bono? = Who Benefits?
> 
> I wanted a question that was ostensibly innocuous yet enough to be damning. Crowley is a systems thinker (see the M25 and the cell phone network). He can see how triggering A affects B and B affects C. However, he can’t foresee the multitude of unintended consequences ranging from D through Z (trapped in a ring of fire, car phone call won’t connect to Aziraphale). I expect that his Fall is the same. He feels his questions are justified and he’s not sorry for them – so he’s Damned and Unforgivable.


End file.
